


flowers grow out of my grave (grave, grave)

by CallicoKitten



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, Getting Together, M/M, Pining, fingers crossed etc etc, hopefully this becomes canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 20:09:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8415028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallicoKitten/pseuds/CallicoKitten
Summary: By the time Ed calls the foods gone cold, congealing on his father's best crockery and Oswald isn't angry. Honestly, he's not, he could sit here all night waiting and he'd still feel like his chest was about to burst. He'd still feel light and warm and loved. "Ed! Hi! Have you left yet?" Oswald starts, smile tugging incessantly at the corners of his mouth. "I've got the most exquisite - "Ed cuts him off, "Oswald, look I'm really sorry to this to you but - " he breaks off and Oswald swears - swears - he hears someone laugh in the background. Soft and feminine.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Français available: [Flowers grow out of my grave (grave, grave)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8486479) by [Aconit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aconit/pseuds/Aconit)



> so i'm only halfway convinced we'll get the nygmobblepot we deserve and i'm really not happy with this fic but whatever, it's not getting any better any time soon
> 
> title is from the deadman's bones song of the same name
> 
> you look me in the eye and tell me jim and os dont hatebone whenever they've had bad days. you look me right in the eye.

When Oswald is small, his mother likes to joke about how they will have to beat away girls with a stick when he is older. Oswald is eight when he realises this won't be that case but that's okay, Oswald doesn't think he's all that interested in girls anyhow.

\---

By the time Ed calls the foods gone cold, congealing on his father's best crockery and Oswald isn't angry. Honestly, he's not, he could sit here all night waiting and he'd still feel like his chest was about to burst. He'd still feel light and warm and _loved._

"Ed! Hi! Have you left yet?" Oswald starts, smile tugging incessantly at the corners of his mouth. "I've got the most _exquisite -_ "

Ed cuts him off, "Oswald, look I'm really sorry to this to you but - " he breaks off and Oswald swears - _swears -_ he hears someone laugh in the background. Soft and feminine.

 "I've met someone!" Ed says. Announces. Like it's something Oswald should celebrate, like it's something Oswald should be _happy_ about.

And he should be, right? He should want Ed to be happy. But -

_But -_

Whatever Ed has to say next is lost to a roaring in Oswald's ears, the thundering of his heart, the crawling of his skin. "That's fine," Oswald hears himself say. "Have a wonderful night, my friend."

\---

The dining room in the mansion lies shattered in Oswald's wake but it's not enough to stop him feeling like he wants to scream. Like he wants to tear himself apart.

He settles for a hapless ex-associate of Butch's, beats him to death with his umbrella. The man hasn't seen Butch for months, Oswald knows, has no more knowledge of the idiot's whereabouts than Oswald himself but the heavy-wet thumping noise Oswald's umbrella makes as it makes contact with the man's soft gut quiets the roar.

(But when that does not work completely he finds himself at Jim Gordon's door in clothes spattered with goulash and blood.

"You shouldn't be here, Mayor Cobblepot," Jim says but there is scotch heavy on his breath and he grabs Oswald by the lapels and yanks him into the apartment anyway, fucks him to exhaustion in the kitchen.

And yes, perhaps if this were a city other than Gotham, people would talk about their Mayor's midnight escapades but this _is_ Gotham and Oswald is fairly certain the people of his city have far more pressing concerns than him.)

\---

Oswald wakes bright and early, dresses in the suit his father made him and meets Ed downstairs for breakfast.

"Good night, my friend?" he asks, cordially. His mother had raised him to be polite, after all.

Ed smiles, his cheeks redden but then he must realise he owes Oswald an apology because he rearranges his features in to something meeker. "I'm sorry for missing dinner, Oswald. It's just - " he breaks off into a grin, giddy and unbridled, Oswald felt like that yesterday. "It's rare to meet someone that you click with so well. Someone special, you know?"

Oh, Oswald knows.

He nods because he's not sure he can speak without screaming or throwing up or both and Ed beams at him, going back to whatever report or speech or itinerary he's checking and double checking without a second glance.

Oswald looks down at the plate of french toast in front of him. It's garnished with fresh berries and powdered sugar, a small jug of maple syrup beside it. If he doesn't eat Ed will be suspicious.

It tastes like cardboard.

\---

Her name is Isabella and she bares more than a passing relationship to the girl Ed strangled and buried in the woods. Oswald is suspicious but there's no one he trusts enough on his staff to ask to investigate, none of his underlings, either. This is the kind of thing he'd have Ed handle but he can't for obvious reasons.

He goes to Barbara instead. He's definitely going to regret it later but Barbara will know who to ask and what to look for and she seems to (mostly) like him these days. Besides if Isabella is who Oswald suspects she is, Barbara will mention it to Tabitha who will pass it on to Butch because Oswald is not an idiot, he knows Tabitha was the one who sprung Butch, the only reason he hasn't done the same thing he'd done to her brother to her is that begrudgingly, he's come to think of Barbara as a friend. Sort of.

He's got a tail on Tabitha. She'll lead him to Butch one of these days.

Barbara arches a perfectly plucked brow when Oswald explains, dressed in a scooped neck black dress that clings in all the right places. Her mouth twitches in a devilish grin as she rests her chin on one elegant hand. "Ooh, Ozzie," she coos. "Getting a little jealous, are we?"

Oswald doesn't dignify that with a response. He clenches his jaw, "Are you going to help me or not, Barbara?"

She smirks, "I'll ask around."

Oswald will definitely regret this.

\---

When he gets back to the mansion Ed is just leaving, "I have a date," he announces.

Oswald swallows thickly. He tries his best to smile, "O-oh?"

"It's with Isabella," Ed goes on, bright and happy. "The girl I met at the wine store."

"How lovely," Oswald says weakly. He could have them followed, he supposes. Have someone take her out. Ed would know though. Ed would figure it out.

Ed would never speak to him again.

"I'll see you in the morning then," he moves to go past Oswald, towards the door but at the last second he pauses and Oswald _hopes -_ "Oh, what was it you wanted to discuss with me?"

It takes Oswald a few minutes to process this, "I'm sorry?"

"Yesterday. You said you had something important to discuss with me over dinner?"

 _Oh,_ Oswald thinks.

"Oh," Oswald says. "It - uh - It must have slipped my mind again."

Ed smiles, "You're working too hard, Oswald. Get some rest, okay? The press want you to make a statement about that hypnotist our friend Jim had a run with tomorrow."

"I will," Oswald promises.

\---

"She's a _vile, hateful bitch,_ " Oswald mumbles. Drinking is probably not the best idea right now but Ed's right, he needs to rest up for tomorrow and the alternative is finding someone new to torture. Taxing work.

Barbara laughs - cackles really - and tilts her head back to rest it on Tabitha's shoulder, "I love him when he's drunk," she says.

Tabitha smiles in a vaguely uncomfortable manner. She's probably trying to figure out whether this is all a ploy to get to Butch, or something. Oswald kind of hopes she makes a move on him. It would be _so_ satisfying to have her blood all over his carpet.

He'd probably have to kill Barbara too, though. He wonders if Jim would be mad at him.

\---

"I think I'm in love," Ed says, the next time Oswald thinks he's gotten up the courage to tell him. So far, Ed's kept things professional, avoided mentioning Isabella at work outside of a few brief slip ups.

It feels a little like being hit by a truck, whatever Oswald had been about to say dies in his throat. "Wh-what?"

"I know, I know," Ed says, beaming, "It's fast but you know what they say, the heart works in mysterious ways!"

"Do they?" Oswald's voice is faint.

"I'd love you to meet her," Ed says. (Oswald's already met her, confronted her and got _nothing._ )  "So I've invited her to dinner this evening! Is that okay?"

Oswald nods mutely. Ed grins and goes on to reel off a list of places Oswald has to be today. Oswald thought he'd be angry, he was angry when his mother died, angry and empty but now he just feels hollow, rung out.

"Oh," Ed ends with, "And we'll _probably_ have to move your step-mother out of the main dining room."

\---

When Jervis Tetch bursts into Oswald's dining room, Oswald thinks he'll have the upper hand for all of five seconds. Butch is long gone, Victor is off doing whatever it is he does when he's not on the clock. It's him and Ed and Isabella and Olga in the kitchen and a handful of guards that Oswald imagines are already dead.

Tetch points a gun at Ed, "Choose," he says, his eyes are wide. Oswald knows that look from Arkham.

Oswald closes his eyes. His head is _spinning_ but he knows what Tetch asking. Demanding. Oswald opens his eyes again in time to see Ed snort. Ed is standing in the midst of all this chaos looking completely at home. Looking like a maniac with hypnotic abilities isn't wielding a gun and forcing him to choose between the apparent love of his life and well, Oswald.

If he makes it through this, Oswald is going to kill her, he decides. He's going to kill Isabella nice and slow and Ed will be sorry that he ever -

"Oswald," Ed says. "Oswald. Of course."

Tetch smirks, levels the gun at Oswald's forehead but Oswald's not processing _that._

The gun clicks.

"I _really_ don't think you want to do that," Ed says.

\---

Tetch's blood is still drying on Ed's shirt front when Jim Gordon and Harvey Bullock leave with Tetch in the back of a squad car. He'll live they're pretty sure, probably escape somewhere down the line and Oswald will shove an umbrella down his throat for ruining his carpets by bleeding everywhere.

"I should have killed him," Ed says, glaring darkly in the direction of the road.

"Yes," Oswald agrees. He still feels foggy. An after effect of whatever Tetch did, maybe. "We should go inside," he says.

"I suppose," Ed says. He turns away reluctantly and keeps pace as they trudge up the front path towards the manor. Oswald locks the door behind them. He should look in to replacing Butch. He could call Victor, of course, but Oswald still finds him _unsettling_. He's not sure he likes the idea of Victor prowling about the place after hours.

Ed has wandered into the dining hall, Oswald follows.

"Such a waste," Ed mutters, looking down at the spilled food.

Isabella has disappeared. She went home with the GCPD, probably. Maybe Tetch's men took her while Ed was beating their leader half to death. _Hopefully_.

Ed spins to face him, "You okay?"

Oswald opens his mouth to try and say yes but his brain hasn't quite caught up yet. It's stuck on Ed saying, _Oswald. Oswald, of course._ He's replaying it, picking it apart and examining every little sliver, for inflection, for hidden meaning, for _explanation._ Maybe Ed chose to protect his job, his freedom. Maybe he thinks he owes Oswald.

Ed is frowning, closer now, edging in step by step, "Oswald?" He cocks his head, uncertain and raises a hand, reaches out to - to touch Oswald's shoulder or arm or something and Oswald finds himself flinching backwards.

Ed actually looks _hurt._ "Os?"

"You chose me," Oswald blurts.

Ed stares at him like he's said something incomprehensible.

"Over her. Over Isabella," Oswald explains. "You chose _me._ "

Ed blinks, "Oh. Of course I did."

"You said you loved her," Oswald says. Accuses. "You said you _loved_ her but you chose _me._ Why?"

Ed smiles, "I told you, I would do anything for you, remember?"

Later, Oswald will blame it on shock or Tetch or something.

He's kissing Ed before he can stop himself, before he can think better of it, hands balled in Ed's bloody shirt. Ed makes a muffled noise of surprise but it's a moment more before Oswald's brain catches up and he lets Ed go, springs backwards, "I - I - " he stammers while Ed stares at him, mouth hanging slightly open. "I am _so_ sorry, Ed. I wanted to - "

But Ed cuts him off, "No. No, it's okay, Oswald." He licks his lips, thoughtfully. "It's okay."

\---

With Jim these things are always rushed and hurried, whiskey on his breath and finger tips digging in to Oswald's hips hard enough to bruise (and Oswald will stare at the little green-purple marks in the mirror, press his fingers into them and hiss with pain. When he was Fish's umbrella boy she'd use him as a commodity if she needed to, the bruises then always felt like a sign of ownership but with Jim they're different. A sign that says: _I can drive Jim Gordon to the depths of depravity over and over again._ )

He has no illusions about Jim. Oswald knows that if it suits him, Jim will press a pistol to Oswald's temple and squeeze and Oswald only hopes that he will be quicker on the draw.

So Os is used to that; bruises and teeth and warm breath in his ear growling _fuck, fuck, **fuck**_. Used to alleyways and walls and car bonnets. Used to the floor of Jim's apartment and hands tangled in his hair, yanking it out by the roots or at the nape of his neck pressing Oswald's head down, down, down, _down_ because they don't want to see -

But Ed - Ed is so - Ed is _so gentle._

His fingers trace every inch of Oswald's body, soft and teasing and delicate, he follows their path with his mouth and kisses Oswald in between, heavy and heated. He strokes Oswald gently, presses kisses to Oswald's jaw, to Oswald's throat, brackets Oswald's hips gently, rubbing circles into Oswald's skin with his thumbs and Oswald shakes and moans and whimpers, makes all the sounds he's never wanted to make in front of another human being but it's _Ed_ and that makes it _okay_ and Oswald thinks he might break apart.

Oswald squeezes his eyes shut, focuses on his breathing because his skin feels like it's on _fire._

"Are you okay?" Ed asks, he's stopped, forehead pressed to Oswald's. They're close together; Os can feel the rise and fall of Ed's chest against his own. "You're shaking, Os."

Oswald opens his eyes to Ed's, warm and bright and so damn _concerned_ and there are _worlds_ of things Oswald wants to say to him but right then all he can manage is: "Don't stop, Ed. Please, just don't."

Ed grins and kisses him, presses a finger into Oswald that has his hips jerking, has him whining against Ed's mouth.

"Shh," Ed soothes, adding another finger. " _Shh._ "

\---

Oswald has never shared a bed before - that's a lie, of course. He slept in the same bed as his mother until he was twelve and started working with the woman who would become Fish Mooney - she wasn't in charge back then, was just a lackey with big dreams and cold eyes and she paid Oswald a pittance under the table and patted his cheek demeaningly.  He's shared a bed with Ed before (he thinks, anyway - he has vague memories of fever dreams and a bullet in his side, someone pressing a cool cloth against his forehead) but not like _this._

They are coiled together, Ed practically on top of him, his face pressed into the crook of Oswald's neck, his arms tight around Os' torso even in sleep. Os has one hand on the small of Ed's back and he's imagining the wonderfully hideous things he'd do to anyone who tried to touch Ed.

He'd burn this whole city down if it meant never having to leave this bed.

"You mustn't kill her," Ed murmurs, against Oswald's throat.

"What?"

"Isabella," Ed says, propping himself up so he can look Oswald in the eye. "You mustn't kill her."

Oswald swallows. He still wants to. This could have happened weeks ago if not for her.

"I know you want to," Ed says, like he's reading Oswald's mind. "But don't."

"Is that an order, Ed?" Oswald asks. "I don't want her near you."

Ed grins, "Don't worry, Mayor Cobblepot," he leans down, presses his lips to Oswald's throat. "She'll know."

He sucks a mark into Oswald's skin and Oswald arches.

\---

 A couple of weeks later, a couple of weeks where Oswald is the happiest he's ever been, Jim Gordon holds Oswald's gaze for a little longer than is necessary. It means nothing, Oswald knows but Ed doesn't, evidentially. He shifts closer, curls a hand around Oswald's arm, possessively and shoots Gordon a positively _filthy_ look that leaves Gordon looking honestly bewildered.

Oswald could _sing._


End file.
